


Time

by poetroe



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, They deserve a break, and a honeymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 01:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetroe/pseuds/poetroe
Summary: Aziraphale thinks about how much time they have, how much time has changed them and how much they can do, now that the world hasn't ended.





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> I finished good omens in two days and the feral gremlin fic writer inside me HAD to write this. It's short and quick but I love these two and their dynamic so I hope I got it right. Thanks for reading and enjoy !!

Time starts to lose its meaning when you’ve experienced the passing of it since, quite literally, the beginning of time. Five minutes are, relative to the six thousand years Aziraphale has already lived through, a mere blink of an eye. Five minutes in the are also quickly forgotten when Crowley is suddenly turning a corner and running up to him, saying: “Angel! I’m sorry I’m late, finding a parking spot in London at this time of evening required nothing short of a miracle.” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.

“A miracle?” he asks, curious. Crowley shrugs and waves the words away with a flourish.

“Figure of speech,” he says, “though I almost had to. This city is overflowing with people.” Aziraphale hums in agreement.

“Remind me not to bring up the last time you told me that.” It takes Crowley a second to catch on, and Aziraphale can feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards until he does.

“What, the Great Fire of London?” Crowley asks, surprised. “I was only partly to blame for that. Did clean the city up nicely, though.”

“Exactly my point,” Aziraphale says, still wearing that hint of a smile. “Now, let us go. I don’t think they’ll hold our table for much longer.”

The thing about time is this: when you’re an immortal creature, you tend to forget its passing. It’s not like the amount of times they’ve met up—Aziraphale knows these aren’t words Crowley would ever use for their encounters, despite the fact it did start like that—is countless. It’s only that neither one of them never felt the need to keep count. Crowley saying goodbye to him and Aziraphale saying goodbye to Crowley had always implied a temporary absence, just a reprieve in which they’d do their respective jobs, before getting together again. Or, until one of them got himself into trouble again.

“Do you remember how it was before then?” Crowley asks when they’ve taken their seats. They’re tucked away in a far corner of this establishment and he’s feeling comfortable enough to take off his shades. Aziraphale smiles as his gaze meets Crowley’s warm, golden eyes.

“Before the fire?” he asks, and the demon nods. “Somewhat. Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember what was here, then?” Crowley asks with a slight smirk. “Right here, on the place of this…fancy restaurant.” Aziraphale shakes his head quietly. He has an idea, but he enjoys listening to Crowley far too much to tell. “Right,” Crowley continues. He leans towards Aziraphale, his elbows planted on the table, as if he’s telling a secret. “That coffeehouse you liked to frequent. Raphe’s place. Remember?”

“I do,” Aziraphale answers with a fond smile. “I also remember you much preferring the alehouse across from it.” Crowley rolls his bright eyes before settling on Aziraphale again.

“Only because the chances of a brawl breaking out were significantly higher there. Your lot were only ever talking about politics and science.” His eyes glide over the current establishment: an upscale London restaurant, frequented mostly by the young professionals that work in the city. “Not much has changed, I suppose.”

“We’re sitting here, together,” Aziraphale adds. “Not much, indeed.” At that, Crowley has to smile, though he hides it well behind his glass of wine.

Time has never had any deeper meaning to any of them except being the measure used by humans to mark change. Maybe their time on earth has made the pair of them more human, Aziraphale thinks as he silently regards Crowley cutting away at his ribeye. Though they are both eternal beings, Aziraphale can’t help but think that as much as they’ve stayed the same, their relationship to each other has changed a lot, over all that time.

“Angel?” It’s Crowley who gets him out of his head and back on earth. It always is, the thought of which makes Aziraphale feel a balmy warmth growing inside his chest. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing special,” he answers. “Time.”

“Yeah, I suppose we have a lot of it, now that we don’t have anyone criticizing our performances anymore,” Crowley answers as he takes a bite. “Why, are you planning something?”

“No,” Aziraphale says, truthfully. “Or, not yet, anyway.” Suddenly, the thought that they really are free seems to hit. They could do anything. Get out of Britain, see the world beyond Europe and the Levant. They could see it all, with time on their side.

“Interesting,” Crowley only says, his face morphing into a grin that can’t mean anything good.

“I thought of travelling,” Aziraphale says quickly, before Crowley can jump into the lull and suggest things Aziraphale is sure he can’t listen to without blushing. And he knows how much satisfaction Crowley takes in achieving that.

“Travelling?” Crowley asks. “Aren’t humans the same everywhere?”

“I wouldn’t go for the humans,” Aziraphale answers. “Or, not just for the humans. They do have achieved remarkably unique cultures all over the world—I just feel like getting away from it all, for a while, to be able to see and enjoy the creation in all its beauty.” He takes his glass of wine and waits for Crowley’s answer.

“Creation in all its beauty, huh?” the demon says, golden eyes with narrow irises trained on Aziraphale. He cracks a grin. “Sure, why not. Where would we go first?” As always, Crowley immediately assumes he meant the both of them—which he did—and the warmth in Aziraphale’s chest, that grows and swelters in Crowley’s company, burns familiarly.

“I don’t know, yet,” he answers with a warm smile. “But we’ve got time to decide.”


End file.
